Conrad likes to stay on top.

Because here he could hear so many voices, he could feel the greed in the blood, he could listen carefully to the countless roars and cries of those who were stranded under the firmament.

Nothing could elicit the pleasure of the Midnight Ghost more than these sounds: the dull and precious time on the Aurora even made the Nostramo people forget how sweet the pain that bloomed in the pupils of others was.

It was so sweet that it made him obsessed and made him realize how inferior his nature was.

“……”

From the throat of the Midnight Wraith's pale, distinct dark green veins, slowly exhaled a low laugh like a night owl, which dissipated into the roar of war, leaving nothing but a stream of blood.

Conrad longs for these pains, longs for these fears, because the pain and fear of others can make the Midnight Wraith feel great enjoyment: of course, the pain and fear of human beings, it is difficult for him to pick it up now, but the pain and fear of these aliens in front of him are not impossible to use as temporary substitutes.

After all......

"The essence of this galaxy is that it takes place between intelligent beings to devour each other, but devouring one's fellow human beings is a crime, while devouring alien races can become heroes: the race that can do this is civilized, and the race that can't do this is barbaric."

As he uttered the word "savage", a trilling voice lingered on Midnight Ghost's lips for an additional second, and the thin lips of the genogen wrapped around the hideous teeth, as if he thought of something, he slowly revealed a smile that was enough to terrify the night.

And in front of the genetic prototype, in the place tightly wrapped in the pitch-black vision, there was a strange head that he had raised: through the resolute face and the luxurious decorations that remained on it, he could barely recognize that this must be a high-ranking officer of the Randan Empire, able to command the 100,000 troops on the ground who were at a loss.

But now, it was just a pile of flesh parts scattered all over the ground, discreetly carried to the tower by the Midnight Wraith, dismantled in pieces, limbs and weapons piled up on the side of the original gene's iron boots, and only the head still lingered in the stubborn profane life force, continuing to perceive for less than a second.

The genogen looked at the unlucky guy carefully, and he felt a little amused.

"Do you think I'm right, Mr. Alien?"

"Look at our feet, in a straight line, those elite warriors in your eyes are less than a hundred meters away from you, but now, without your command, what difference is their panic from the beasts?"

"Between civilization and barbarism, the line is not unbreakable."

"Especially ......"

"When fear comes."

As he spoke, he raised the communicator he had just snatched, so that the laughter in his mouth could clearly echo in the ears of every unfortunate Randan warrior: it was a series of tremors, a distant static noise, a bone-like sound, and before another annoyed voice roared to order all the Randan soldiers to turn off the communicator, the Genogen ensured that his voice had tormented at least a million soldiers and civilians of the Alien Empire.

The Midnight Ghost felt even the slightest hint of pride.

Awesome, his beastly Caliban brother, who doesn't know how long it will take to do the same thing as him: Conrad has never looked favorably on him.

In pleasure, he then muttered to himself about the breathless alien head, completely oblivious to the hatred left behind by the dead twisted pupils.

"As now, I am able to devour you wretches: therefore, I am civilized and have a future, and you are savage, and you will be forgotten."

"Sad reality, isn't it?"

Midnight Ghost ended the one-sided conversation with a fluttering question, and he didn't linger in this place any longer: in the heart of the genotype, he was constantly calculating the values of fear and panic, and how to make fear to the maximum threshold, which was his great talent born with.

At the perfect moment, the Nostramo gently dropped the alien head in his hand, and the loud sound of falling to the ground caused countless screams and fire in an instant, and in the semi-enclosed space created by the arched bridge, these roars spread extremely far until the surrounding ten kilometers of defense line were stirred by this strange sound, and became scattered.

The Midnight Wraith seized the moment, picking up the remaining limbs and silently leaving his current position, drifting like a swift shadow towards the critical passes he had already stepped on.

Everywhere he went, he dropped a monstrous corpse and smeared it with a few smbs of blood, or simply killed the lone alien soldiers, whose corpses were used as the most recommended beacons to signify his arrival.

In many cases, instead of killing directly, the Midnight Ghost resorted to the more subtle and efficient methods of fear he had learned over the years.

For example, with just a few blind spots in the field of vision, and a few teams of tense patrol soldiers, a catastrophic fire can be brewed, and as long as the figure of the Midnight Wraith passes through the mid-air of the fire and the right amount of time, then the chaos and cannibalism caused by fear and panic can even sweep over the hundreds of thousands of people around.

For example, when the countless detachments of Randan, who were strangers to each other, crowded into a narrow corridor while hunting for the elusive shadow, then it only took the slightest disturbance in a place where no one could see it to turn into a grand opera that was pleasing to the eye.

His claws were no longer even stained with the blasphemous blood, but the river of blood beneath his feet showed no sign of cease: even Conrad had to sigh that when he was in Nostramo, the methods were really rough enough.

Like throwing stones on the water, each brief stop of the Nostramo man caused a new wave of panic, and he pinched the trajectory of the aliens, constantly calculating the loopholes in the aliens' front to ensure that each of his performances would achieve the best goal.

In less than a minute, he had spread chaos in eight places, causing eight of the highest level alarms to sound in complete opposite directions: even though he had only killed four Xenomorphs in one minute, it was enough for more than 400,000 of the most elite Xenomorphs to rush into the alarm-covered corridors.

In the correspondence of the alien officers roaring at each other, the Midnight Ghost, who had just learned a little of the Randan language, heard it clearly: the Praetorian Guards of the Randan swore that at least a thousand enemy troops had entered their lines, and that more than fifty officers were giving orders in the exact opposite direction, and that these complementary commanders, along with the messy Randan conscripts, had become Midnight Spirit's best comrades.

All it takes is a shrill chuckle or an inexplicable shadow for the already panicked militiamen to begin firing indiscriminately in all directions, their muzzles bursting with blazing light that chases away the darkness, tearing apart stone pillars and corridors, sweeping away countless comrades with the fear in their hearts, and letting the chaos spread like a plague half an hour after the Midnight Wraith left.

And in the chaos caused by the rubbing shoulders, the Midnight Wraith had already quietly retreated through the first finalized route, and he even waited for the last of the Ran Dan team to pour into the already overcrowded corridor before igniting the last bomb in his hand, so that the chaos behind him could last a little longer.

Millions of Randan soldiers and militia are still making their way to this narrow hell, and the makeshift headquarters and emergency services are just getting their way: the vast nets that surround the quagmire of chaos, the Midnight Wraith has already seized on the loopholes and slipped away.

The fear and pain of enjoying these aliens certainly made him happy, and the chaos that delayed the large number of troops in the palace did make an indelible contribution to the battle situation in the distance, but Conrad knew very well that what he should really pay attention to was not these small fights, but some kind of ridiculous farce that was happening on the alien tower in the distance.

Even if his carrion blood didn't name the tower, Conrad would have gone: because that's what he's here for, that's the role and mission that fate has arranged for him in this scene, and he shouldn't run away from it.

And the chaos just now was just to empty the original garrison around the tower to a level that would allow him to safely infiltrate: a cautious mindset is the most important thing Midnight Wraith has learned over the years.

Just like verbally, he maintained a dismissive attitude towards the teleportation beacon that Morgan had installed, but now, he honestly put it in the most convenient place, and even assured that if his hands could not move, his tongue would be able to open the teleportation beacon in time.

Of course, deep down in his heart, he still looked down on this tool of escape: it was a matter of principle.

In the heart of the Midnight Ghost, a flash of lightness flashed as he shuttled back and forth through the twisted spire of the Randan Palace, the mess of Randan soldiers and civilians at his feet: a large number of civilians were gathering in this desecrated and resplendent building, restless, tumultous, and panicked, and these civilians, along with the improvised Randan militia, were the main reason why Conrad's tactics of fear and chaos were so smoothly carried out.

For these creatures who do not have the slightest military literacy and courage, even the unfortunate death of one person will implicate the fear of ten people, and then spread to hundreds, hundreds, thousands, thousands, and millions......

In the blink of an eye, rumors and panic will infect millions of people like a plague, and when these displaced people and defeated soldiers begin to flee blindly out of fear, even the most elite troops will be overwhelmed by the tide of chaos.

When Midnight Wraith witnessed the chaotic torrent beneath his feet, he even felt a glimmer of revenge: in the first place, in his wargame duel with Morgan, he watched his blood relatives sweep away his carefully arranged meandering army with a rout, but Midnight Wraith felt an eternal pain in his heart.

That scene is simply the deepest irony of the Nostramo philosophy of fear: fortunately, with this humiliation as a tuition, Conrad has mastered this skill.

Conrad's lips curled, and just as he fantasized about the past, his target was vaguely close at hand, separated by a few hundred overly scattered guards: the vast crowds of outcasts crowded on either side of the road were not counted by the Midnight Wraith.

Behind him, beyond the invisible subspace barrier, the rumbling cannon fire was getting closer and closer like a giant beast devouring heaven and earth: it was a huge army led by Zhuang Sen, who had torn apart all the resistance of Ran Dan outside the palace, and was trying to break through this last alien fortress.

Seeing this, even the Midnight Ghost had to admire the talent of the Caliban: when he had just infiltrated the palace, the artillery fire of the Dark Angel Legion was still very erratic, as if it was coming from beyond the skyline, and now it was only a few hours, and even Johnson's roar was enough to resound throughout the Alien Palace.

It is clear that even without them, the First Army on its own would have been enough to end the suspense of the war: it was only the casualty figures that became more ugly.

But Johnson, the beast, certainly doesn't care about these things: he feels sorry for those dark angels, after all, looking at the galaxy, I'm afraid it's hard to be a worse Father of Genes.

Slandering his brother in his heart, the Midnight Ghost overcame the last obstacles, and he clung to the tower, feeling the vigorous blasphemy within: the energy of the subspace was pouring into it like a rushing torrent to a low town.

Even the lowest-level psionics could feel the horror of this power: it was by no means a huge volume that any planet could accumulate, and once it erupted, the damage it would create would definitely not be something that a planet could withstand.

Conrad could even hear the long laughs that lingered around the tower, chaotic and distorted for him to distinguish, but two of them were the most obvious: one hoarse like a thousand crows screaming together, and the other a ghostly ghost.

The Midnight Ghost hooked the corners of his mouth, he didn't pay much attention to the visions he had seen so far, and instead focused on his mission: after a little thought and the perfect infiltration, the Nostramo left behind the alien corpses all over the place to ensure that no one would find out that he had broken into this vital tower.

Three steps and two steps, Conrad rushed forward like an arrow from a string.

He knew what he was up against, so he didn't hesitate.

He's even laughing.

——————

【……】

[It's really weird.] 】

For no reason, the Spider Empress, who was trying her best to direct the battle, suddenly shuddered, and felt a little uneasy: as if she was in the dark, she seemed to be targeted by some ridiculous fate.

Morgan took a step back, and she lowered her head and thought for a second to check what was wrong, but in the end she found nothing: the constant pouring of information forced her to return to the front of the command platform again, and continue to organize the increasingly erosive war.

With Johnson's army attacking the foot of Ran Dan's palace, the resistance of the alien empire has become unprecedentedly crazy, and every inch of land that the human army is now advancing must be completely soaked and dyed red by the blood of both sides, so that there is a slight possibility of changing hands.

Under such pressure, Morgan even wondered if she had a sensory delusion because she had hoarded too much work and lacked rest.

【……】

No, her workload isn't really that big.

After all, she just needs to pay attention to the battle situation on the front line at all times, watch out for the movement of aliens in subspace, dispatch more than a thousand capital ships and countless small warships in orbit, meet the material supply of each detachment, ensure the smooth transportation line of the galaxy from [No. 1] to the main battlefield, supervise the reinforcements of Riemanlus and Luther, contact various Titan legions, knight families and mortal auxiliary legions, supervise the operation of the rear medical department, and observe three thousand material transfer stations at the same time, twenty-six subordinate staff headquarters, The safety of 400 space fortresses, 20,000 Daybreaker warriors and more than 7 million Avalon auxiliaries, and the little increase in casualties of his own heirs and auxiliaries has stimulated 100 million points of high blood pressure.

【……】

【……】

Well, damn it.

She really needed a break.

The Spider Empress rubbed her temples in annoyance: in the few seconds she had paused, more than 10,000 messages had been accumulated, piled up in front of the genetic primitives, like a flock of chicks waiting to be fed under the talons of a she-eagle.

【……】

It took less than a second for the Lord of Avalon to fantasize about smashing the bird and communication processor in front of him, then rushing down to take Johnson's place and throw the damn Caliban golden lion into the command room, then opened his eyes and began to obediently deal with the things in front of him.

But soon, she couldn't help frowning: not because she had finally lost patience with the data, but because, in a trance, the Spider Empress suddenly realized that there seemed to be some kind of laughter in her ears.

She recognized the laughter, the laughter that came from the depths of the subspace: the last time it was so blatant, He had promised Morgan to share with her everything in the real universe.

And now......

Morgan blinked, and she glanced at the never-ending document in front of her for a moment, and couldn't help but think for a moment: if this self-proclaimed Lord of Pleasure existed, he promised to help her complete all the papers......

【……】

【……】

Damn it.

She actually faltered.

(End of chapter)